


Like Electricity

by PippinTheRenegade



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Dancing, Depression mention, Enjoltaire Week 2016, M/M, exr week 2016, heavy references to billy elliot, i'm impressed, prompt: liberate, tap dancing and waltz, they had an actual conversation, would you look at that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:45:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7121953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PippinTheRenegade/pseuds/PippinTheRenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire uses dance as part of a not-so-strict de-stressing regiment. He shows up early to the studio because he doesn't want anyone watching while he does this; it's for him and just him. Until, of course, Enjolras pops by unexpectedly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Would you like to try?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Electricity

**Author's Note:**

> This is going up long after day two BUT I DID IT. HAVE IT.
> 
> Happy ExR week, everybody (this is actually happy, I swear)!

Empty studio time was his favorite. Every Monday, almost without fail, Grantaire dragged himself out of his apartment a whole hour before he actually needed to just for this little bit of time. Floreal would be by soon enough and catch him there, and she would likely demand some form of attention from him. For now, however, the time was his own.

Grantaire stretched one arm high over his head and arched his back until it popped. He rolled his shoulders, content to have loosened a few of his stressful knots. That was the point of all this, after all, get rid of some of that stress he carried, the bits he couldn't knock free in a boxing ring or through a shouting match.

His shoes clacked loudly on the floorboards as he wandered over to the speaker system, thumbing through the playlist on his phone. Jehan had recently gotten hold of the thing and loaded an entire directory of showtunes onto it, swearing by the creative power of Broadway. A few had stuck with Grantaire already, including the one he stopped on.

He grabbed the audio cord, jacked his phone in, and pressed play. This version of "Angry Dance" had a delay built in, just enough time for him to set the phone down and trot back to the middle of the floor before the first stomp.

The heel of his tap shoe hit the floor, hard, and he echoed the frustrated growl from the audio. Weight shifted, and his other foot fluttered out the next rhythm and another cry escaped him, louder than the first. A luxury afforded him by the empty building. Two beat, stomp, snarl. Another quick exchange and a full-on shout. The drum and base kicked in like a twin punch to the stomach, and he let his eyes slip closed as his steps turned him around to face the mirror, a fist thrust high in the air.

This dance changed every week, depending on how his week had gone. The song was something primal, fierce; a perfect outlet for his aggressions and pains in the form of something mostly harmless. He let his feet move on their own, pounding out a snapping, uneven beat into the worn floor. He spun, punching up again, as his mind drifted through the latest addition to the list of grief that was his life.

Enjolras, of course. Enjolras had a protest coming up, would probably all but ask him not to come along. It was a pattern. His steps grew more agitated; and why shouldn't he go? He could throw verbal jabs at opponents just as well and quickly as their red-clad leader. And if things went to hell, they would need every set of hands to make sure everyone made it safely away. Enjolras and his rallies weighed on his mind far more than he ever dared admit, but, here, he allowed the thoughts to twist his dancing into something wild.

The backbeat of tap from the soundtrack cut out, and Grantaire shifted his technique. He twisted and struck out with a foot, two jabs and a knee in time with the music quick to follow the harsh footfall as his full weight came forward. He drew up and corrected quickly, balancing on the ball of his foot, then stepped his momentum into a nearly elegant spin.

A soft knock on the doorframe, just enough to be heard over the music, pulled Grantaire partly out of himself. Most likely Floreal, here early to stretch or to spy on him. He cracked his eyes enough to catch sight of a flash of red as the mirror spun by, and he faltered his end step. he stumbled abruptly, flailing for the support of the ballet bar in his panic.

"Enjolras!" he yelped, fingers slipping off the smooth bar as he regained his footing and a bit of his composure. Had he been sweating quite this much a moment before? "What- uh... What are you doing here?"

The blond watched him closely for a long moment, and Grantaire shifted nervously. He could normally hold Enjolras' gaze, but being here instead of the Musain left him feeling oddly exposed. None of the Amis ever saw him here, much less during his lonely reverie. It was a strange feeling that wrapped his heart like a vice.

Enjolras seemed to catch on, and his stare fell. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, oddly hesitant.

"What? No!" Grantaire forced a laugh and waved Enjolras off. Overhead, the warped chorus pumped through the speaker still- _solidarity, solidarity!_ "This is, uh, I was just messing around. I don't even like this song. It just came on, and, uh." He finally regained the ability to shift his feet and shuffled over to yank the audio cord from his phone. The music cut off with a sharp, static buzz.

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow at him. "Shame," he said. "Jehan will be disappointed when they hear. They were certain this one would click with you, if I remember right."

Grantaire swallowed hard and shook his head. "They're right. I lied. I love it." Where the hell was his brain right now? "You didn't tell me what you wanted. Is there a reason you came all the way down here, or were you wandering the streets in search of someone to pick a fight with?"

"Please," Enjolras huffed at him. "I was looking for you. Bahorel said you would either be here or at the gym, and he was right."

Grantaire cursed his friend in his head, though he made sure to keep the snarl he was feeling off his face. Good old Baz, ratting out one of his few hiding places. "Why? Don't get enough of me at meetings?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "I wanted to make sure you were coming to the rally."

"Really?"

"Don't do that." Grantaire could have sworn there was a hint of amusement in Enjolras' eyes before the orator blinked and the glimmer vanished. "But, yes, I do want you there. Sober preferably. You're a valuable asset when you have more blood than alcohol in your system, Grantaire, and you would be missed."

Grantaire smiled, awkward and honest. "Compliments? From my dear Apollo? Now I know you're messing with me."

Enjolras gave him a look- incredulous? that may have been the word for it- and shook his head. "Is this what you do every Monday?" he asked, almost too quickly.

"What, dance?" The artist patted his hands on his pants absently, his gaze straying from Enjolras down to the floor. "Three out of four, almost every month. Exceptions being an odd fifth week and when the little bastard up here gets too loud." He tapped his temple with a finger, and Enjolras fixed him in a glare that dropped his hand an instant later.

"You shouldn't make light of your depression, Grantaire." Enjolras' tone was serious, but his features pinched with worry instead of judgement. "Are you doing anything to help with it, or should I-"

"I do this," Grantaire cut in, sweeping a hand around the empty studio. "And I box with Bahorel and go to your meetings. Believe me, things used to be far worse. And I've talked with Joly about all of this before you ask. He keeps an eye on me, don't worry. If the gremlin upstairs ever gets too much to bear again, I'll go to him first thing."

Some of the tension went out of Enjolras' shoulders; he seemed to accept that answer. "Why this, though?"

Grantaire blinked at him. "This what?"

"Dance. Why do you do it? How is it helpful to you?"

"Ah." Grantaire combed his hair back with his fingers and stood silent for a long minute. Long enough to worry Enjolras, to get him to take a hesitant step forward, before he spoke again. "It's a difficult thing to explain, Apollo. When I dance, I'm... well... I don't have to be me. I don't have to think as much. I can let go, if only for a song at a time. It's freedom."

He glanced up and got caught in those chips of sky Enjolras dared to call eyes. "Would you like to try?"

"Me?" Enjolras took his step back, shaking his head. "I can't dance, Grantaire. No."

Grantaire cocked his head. "I didn't think you could tap, no. Something simple."

"Still no."

"It'll be fun?"

"Grantaire."

"Don't you want to know what I mean?" Grantaire held out his hand, expectant. "It really is something you have to experience, Apollo. No words will ever make sense for something like this."

Enjolras breathed a long sigh before taking the offered hand. "Fine. Don't expect much from me, though. I haven't danced since I was a kid, and I was never very good at it."

Grantaire laughed and pulled up his phone again. "Finally," he said, smirking, "something the great and perfect Apollo can't do." He led Enjolras to the sound system and plugged in again. A moment later, a soft piano piece tinked though the speakers, a sweet, simple melody.

He shifted back a pace, lacing his fingers together with Enjolras' along with the step. "Your hand goes on my shoulder," he instructed, and he blushed faintly as the thin fingers settled by his collar. His own hand found Enjolras' waist; Grantaire had to swallow down his desire in order to speak again. "Alright, just follow my lead and count with me, alright? _One_ two-three, _one_ two-three, _one_ two-three."

The pair turned in slow, lazy circles across the floor, Grantaire compensating for when Enjolras stumbled or stepped on his toes. His tap shoes clacked softly on the wood with each step, adding a small staccato on-beat to their movements that helped keep Enjolras in time. Even with his flubs, he managed well.

Somewhere between the warmth of the studio and the relaxing plink of the musical backdrop, Enjolras lost his rigidity. He leaned closer, his feet stumbling over Grantaire's shoes, until his head rested on the other man's chest. Their waltz descended into more Grantaire swaying with one arm around Enjolras, not that the artist was likely to complain.

"Hey," Grantaire murmured, running his thumb over the back of his dance partner's hand, "you okay, Apollo?"

Enjolras nodded, though he made no effort to move from his position. "I think I get it. At least a little." He shifted, just enough to watch Grantaire's face. "Would you mind if I came by again next week?"

Grantaire hugged him tighter, a small smile on his lips. "Of course not. Come by as many weeks as you like."

**Author's Note:**

> The song Grantaire's dancing to at the beginning is "Angry Dance" from Billy Elliot. The title is shamelessly taken from "Electricity" of the same show. That one is actually where the idea came from.
> 
> Like what you see? Leave a Kudos or a comment or come yell at me about dorks in love on my [Tumblr](http://theblazeofmemory.tumblr.com/). I'm not picky, and I don't bite, honest.


End file.
